september, won't you bring me some rain again?
by xIrelandx
Summary: September falls away 'til I'm broken.


Most nights, she cries and shakes and curls into the fetal position, and tries to forget that any of this ever happened. Vincent doesn't agree with her methods. He doesn't see the point in trying to forget, but then that's the hell he's always had to live with. Heather (Cheryl? Sharon? Mary?) is still relatively new to all this atrocity, and he just has to be patient with her.

All the same, it's usually too much for him to take. He can't rest until she stops crying, and when she's asleep he has to stay awake. There's too much danger around them, too many possibilities of bad things happening to them, even with Travis keeping guard by the door. Maybe especially with Travis keeping guard by the door. He doesn't know why Heather trusts this guy, but he's not going to fall pray anytime soon. He wants to be prepared for the breakdown, whenever it comes their way. And he's pretty sure it will, sooner or later.

But maybe, just maybe, it's because Travis never kept his connection to Silent Hill a secret. Heather's still a little bitter that Vincent wasn't more upfront, but he stands by the decisions he's made so far. There was only so much he could do, to keep her safe and to keep himself alive. Maybe that's selfish, but until they got closer he didn't really think there was anything else worth fighting for.

On their sixth night in Brahms, Heather apparently loses her patience or composure, and storms over to the second bed where Vincent is laying, his head tilted back against the wall and feet crossed at the ankle in front of him. She doesn't say anything, but lets herself fall onto the bed, rearranging herself so that her head is on his chest. He's startled - she's never been the one to grasp for affection, and she's been so caustic lately he didn't want to try. Knowing him, it would be just one more fuck-up to add to the pile of things he'd done wrong. All the same, he uncrosses his arms and rests one on Heather's back, moving it around to her right shoulder. The fabric of his shirt has worn thin from too many harsh washes in crummy hotel room sinks and repeated wear. He can feel her eyelashes beet against the linen. It should feel nice, he thinks, but it only feels irritating, like everything else in their lives. Just another itch he's willing to avoid scratching.

He has to say something. The fact that she's reaching out must mean there's something wrong. He takes a breath, preparing himself, but Heather speaks first. "I had a dream you died."

Well, that's one hell of a confession to make. What does one say to that? "Oh?"

"We were in a church, and you were telling me to kill Claudia. And it was just...weird. Like the lucid part of me - I couldn't believe you were asking me to kill family, your family. And then she came up and stabbed you through the back."

Vincent doesn't know what to do now. Does he make a joke? A snide remark? Reassure her? He tries to go for the foremost. "I guess she deserved it then."

Heather shakes her head and pushes herself back up. "Don't you ever miss her?"

"Claudia?" It should feel strange to call her by her first name. "She's a brainwashed old hag," he snaps.

Heather frowns. "Isn't that a little harsh? After all, she is your mother."

Vincent shakes his head. "It feels weird, hearing anyone call her a mother. What exactly has she done to earn that title? Engage in the killing of innocent children? Attempting to murder someone else's child? Ritualistic torture in the name of a God that doesn't even exist? Whatever drug she was on fried her brains years ago -" He has to stop. It would be easy for him to go on - therapeutic, even. But Heather's eyes are wide and wild, and he's afraid he might be scaring her. "My mother isn't like your dad."

"Okay," she says. She repeats it. Again. Like she can't formulate any other thought.

He lets the silence return, before making an observation of his own. "Are we even sure she was my real mother and that I wasn't adopted? She kind of turned into a monster, do those things even give birth to humans?"

Heather looked him in the eyes and said, totally deadpan, "Monsters? They looked like monsters to you?"

It's sick and ridiculous, but now they're both laughing, falling over each other and crying about it. Travis is roused from his sleep in confusion. "Did I miss something?" Heather's got her head buried in Vincent's neck, laughing silently. He has to shake his head for her. Travis doesn't get it, but he shakes his head too and mutters something about "kids these days."


End file.
